


Sorry

by oceansinmychest



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 03, Songfic, Three-In-One - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-31 00:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12664836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceansinmychest/pseuds/oceansinmychest
Summary: ' Sorry that I lost our love without a reason why. '





	Sorry

**Author's Note:**

> As a side note, these are three stand alone fics that occur at different points in time. While interconnected, they can be read alone. I didn't divide these into separate chapters as a technical experiment.
> 
> I highly advise you listen to the "Sorry" By: Meg Myers. The EthniKids remix, in particular. That served as the basis for inspiration.

> _' My voice is TWISTED. Guilty goes the tongue. '_

“Get out!”

The shout is deafening, maddening, with the fury of a dozen Valkyries.

A heavily pregnant Anderson sits atop the cot, the clinical white sheet pooling around her waist to reveal her rounded belly. Alarmed by the chaos, she places a protective hand over her stomach. Eyes wide, a single curl beats against her temple.

She shifts further away from the Deputy and the Governor.

A resounding slap echoes. Swift and sudden, the strike violently jerks Vera's head to the side. Her trembling jaw cracks like a shattered tea cup. She swears that she can hear bone collide, but nothing's broken.

Just her heart.

Vinegar and salt slither down her cherry red cheek. A phantom pain assaults her wrist. She wipes away the tears with the back of her hand. Bats off the pain like the staccato beat of the clock in the room.

In her defiance, she sniffles and she glares. Joan returns the stare, a fire in her eyes. Pivoting on heel, she turns her back to her deputy.

It's a fatal mistake.

Jianna needs her.

The heart clenches.

It’s just a muscle after all.

> _' And your tears, they taste like vinegar and blood. '_

  
  


A woman with no ego deflates on a standard, prison chair. Uncomfortable plastic digs into her back and world-weary spine. She curls into herself, shoulders turned inward. It does little for her poor posture.

Fingers flex loosely. Nervous hands are unable to rest. She reeks of ruin – of _failure_.

Noxious vinegar overpowers.

The moniker haunts.

Sad, blue eyes flit down to her bandaged wrist. A sprain is nothing compared to the embarrassment she's endured today.

“ _What_ is that smell?”

The Governor curls her lip, the only indication of her disapproval. Beside her Deputy, she kneels. Vera is useless in her current state. A pity, a shame – she has expected so much more from this sniveling wreck before her.

This rhetorical question warrants no answer.

Dark eyes narrow sharply. She dons gloves as a practical barrier. In a forced display of affection, her thumb swipes over Vera's jawline, forcing her head up. She traces the soft, impressionable cupid's bow.

Vera's eyes are cloudy.

A storm is on the rise.

“Take care of your mother,” Joan whispers into her ear, lips ghosting across the lobe.

So the seed is planted.

The scent of leather overwhelms her senses. It's more of a lover than Joan will ever be.

> _' So take me to the start. Take me to that kiss. '_

Rewind to the past where it all began. Right to the start of the cumbersome Pink Dragon.

There’s a knock at the door.

Disheveled, Vera answers. Her uniform spills open at the throat, the fabric crumpled. The fabric falls in soft, sensual waves. Despite the reveal, there is something so pure – so innocent – behind the unraveling of her work load.

“I brought dinner. You could use a proper meal,” Joan states coolly. Calmly.

Reason remains her ally.

On the doorstep, Vera sings the sad case of need and desire.

In the midst of inner turmoil, the little mouse strikes. Small fists knot in the fabric of Joan’s blouse to lure her closer. On the tips of her toes, she stands.

She kisses her before recoiling.

Soft lips crash together, gaining momentum before retracting entirely. Out of sync, out of touch, there befalls a silence.

“S-Sorry,” she manages to stammer out.

Breathless, deathless.

The Governor stares with black holes for eyes. Vera’s always been a poor judge of character, but it unnerves her that Joan won’t let her in. She can’t read the composed woman before her.

“Don't be,” Joan says.

Years from now, they'll both be sorry for losing this.

It should have ended differently, don’t you think?


End file.
